Requiem

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"See, I don't mean to be rude but, I am pretty sure she won't come back... after all that squabble. Besides that, now that she has run away to Taipei... I'm pretty sure that scoundrel won't leave a chance to woo her ....what was his name again... Zhan Feng Wei. Yeah, him "- your co-worker noisily blurted out and gulped his sixth cup of saké.

You sat there in the izakaya with him in utter silence the whole time, nibbling on a dried anchovy.

"You should eat more- you seem to have lost some weight"- he said with an air of mild concern.

"It's okay; I ate a couple of onigiri earlier in the evening.... it's getting late now, I should better get going".

He stares blankly at you for a moment and says -" ah, yes, of course. See you tomorrow, I guess."

You barely nod as you manage to rush out of the crammed izakaya; he's probably downing his seventh cup of saké in there.

You mindlessly stroll down the alley barely lit up by the red lanterns of the izakaya, feeling numb and desolate. It was March, and spring had arrived; the air was mildly chilly and you have a grey cardigan on. All that can be heard are the crickets in the darkness of the hedge.

The neighbourhood is rather idyllic; most houses are from the late Shōwa era with a couple of two storeyed condominiums. It is mostly dark except for the occasional amber street-lamps and the lone oden stall near the intersection. A desolate Sakura tree near the intersection left the street strewn with sakura petals, and there was occasionally a firefly or two. They say fallen sakura petals are the souls of dead mortals ... the fireflies would also die when morning arrives.

Like a fish out of water, you were gasping for your last breath; the wounds and scars have eventually grown deeper. Flashbacks of frolicking with her in the snow in Sapporo are followed by those of Tanabata festivities in Asakusa; they are quickly washed off with flashbacks of that day- the day when it all ended. Despite hating it and emanating spite from the depths of your mind, you still cling to darkness and despair: the scars are now ossified and there's no going back- going back from a realm of resentment- and perhaps grudge.

After a long, depressing walk home, you slide the door open and get in. There's nothing new- the same old futon; the same old pile of unwashed laundry; and the same old magazines you got last spring. You heave out a long, sad sigh as your eyes lightly moisten up. It has almost been two weeks; and yet she's still there- sort of. On the walls of your brazen heart; her presence is written all over your self. After a few long nights, you never really knew when morning came- the blinds were never drawn apart; the darkness is comforting. However, perhaps... she never cared.

You wonder, that why are you still even breathing. Well, things never go the way you want them to.

You flinch your eyes and walk over to the bathroom. You avoid the mirror; the very reflection of yourself fills you with dread, and perhaps disgust. There's nothing much to be done; you just merely change the bandages that stick onto your lacerated wrist.

The night would be long; and morning brings nothing but depression; all you see in the brightness of spring is darkness. You drape on a black overcoat and walk, back into the dim alleyway and it's chilly spring air. You aimlessly wander about the dark neighbourhood; all you can think about is her- only to be drowned in resentment.

You arrive upon a bridge: it's deserted in the darkness and the water under it flows serene. It was where you first met with her, one snowy night on your way back home from a company dinner in Ginza. Perhaps the last fragments of your memories are also going to be blotted out with resentment.

You gently grab the steel railing of the bridge; it's damp from the dew and is somewhat cold. Apart from the flickering amber street-lights, its quite dark and all that can be heard are crickets; and perhaps a couple of stray dogs miles away. Nobody really cares.

You look at your palm, on which you've scratched out with a marker - "Haruko". The lady of spring.

As the last of the strings unravel, you feel yourself being swallowed up by the water.